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Died— At Rhinebeck, October 5, 1866, ELIZABETH PL ATT, beloved wife of 

Charles H. Adams of Cohoes, and daugliter of William B. 

Platt of Rhinebeck, in the 37th year of her age. 






NEW YORK 
BRADSTREET PRESS 

1867 



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Brighton Heights, S. I., 
Feb. 1st, 1867. 



To Charles H. Adams, Esq. : 



It is fitting that your name should introduce these pages, memorial of 
your sainted wife. This tribute to womanly nobleness and piety has been 
a work of love. Its imperfections none feel more than myself. The 
record is now before the public, and underneath the imperfect vestment 
a human hand has wrought, will be clearly discerned the lustre of a char- 
acter worthy of exact imitation. 

To the care and consolations of the wise and loving Father I would 
commend your wounded spirit, and the dear children who nevermore on 
earth will know a mother's sweet caress and counsel. 
Very truly your friend, 

HEMAN R. TIMLOW. 



I. 



" In whose hand thy breath is."— Daniel, v. 23. 

" My times are in thy hands." — Psalms, xxxi. 15. 

" It matters not how long we live, but how." — Festus. 

" He most lives 
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best ; 
And he whose heart beats quickest lives the longest — 
Lives in one hour more than in years do some." — Festus. 

An ancient philosopher died at ninety. The thought of his 

approaching end had for some time disturbed him. He could 

not be reconciled to the fact. His past experience, he felt, had 

but prepared him to live in the world he was so soon to leave. 

The pleasing delusion was indulged, that just in sight was the 

I 



summit of Human Knowledge and Happiness. The heart de- 
sired no greater good than to stand on that proud height. All 
was gladness and exultation at the bright prospect. But the phil- 
osopher's vision vanished ; his hopes perished. The sands be- 
neath his feet began to give way, and he sank back, he could not 
tell whither. 

Like this venerable teacher of antiquity, many now mistake the 
design and limitations of the present state of being. Too often 
is it assumed to be complete in itself The mass of mankind 
spend their energies upon transient objects as upon an ultimate 
end. And yet who does not know that the reach of vision is so 
narrow, the subjects of inquiry extend to relations so far beyond 
our power to trace them, that only imperfect and unsatisfactory 
conclusions can be attained .? The future is concealed by a cur- 
tain impenetrable to mortal vision, and which no mortal power 



3 

can draw aside. Independent of that Revelation that brought 
Life and Immortality to light, no knowledge is possible concern- 
ing those things after which the mind most anxiously asks. When, 
then, those not having this Revelation, or, having it, neglect and 
depart from its instructions, attempt to decide upon the wisdom 
of conditions affecting this life, they must always err. That Eye 
which ranges over the Universe of Matter and Spirit, and that 
Infinite Mind which planned "from of old" the operations of 
Law and Intelligence, looks and orders far beyond where a crea- 
ture can follow. " Who by searching can find out God ?" 

It has been well said, that every life on earth is a plan of God. 
No one liveth, however briefly, who is not linked to purposes 
that run out into and through eternity. A death is sometimes 
pronounced untimely. So we speak when the young and the 
strong pass away, or when any are slain by accident. Who has 



not stood dumb at the bier of those cut down by the Destroyer 
in the meridian of their days ? The mind is bewildered and har- 
assed at the spectacle of a life that seems to have been but half 
finished. But do any depart from the world " out of season ?" 
Nay ! We are taught that God has put bounds to every life. 
His own hand marks out every path. In Divine Wisdom are 
the years of every man told. Old and young are subject to the 
same law of mortality God has wisely established, but the peculiar 
principles and methods of this law have never been disclosed. 
The " little ones " even, who come 

" As living shadows for a moment seen," 

and tarry only to plant new affections in the yearning parent's 
heart, and then wing their way " to bright worlds beyond," are no 
less charged with a mission on earth than they of three-score and 
ten. We know not this mission. The life thus bounded by a 



5 
moment seems a vain thing. Our eyes looked upon a bud, but 
God's eye saw both blossom and fruit. God set the germ, and 
the plant grew and bore fruit, ere we knew that ray or dew had 
fallen upon it. 

Life is not measured by length of days ; nor can it be meas- 
ured by man at all. When it should end, none dare decide. Who 
is there so bold as to even wish to know ? The wish and wisdom 
of man are but mockery of the purposes of Him whose "ways 
are past finding out." Had the shadow gone back on the dial of 
the philosopher, and another century been leased him, that sum- 
mit for which his heart panted could never have felt his weary 
feet. The vision might have tarried, but never have been real- 
ized. This is the theater of preparation for something better, 
something higher. Children are we all, burdened with a child's 
perplexities, vagaries, follies, and yet glowing with precious pro- 



phecies, and laden with types as pledges of the future. The per- 
fect stature, the fruition of promise and hope, lie beyond. 

When Mirza mourned the vanity and misery and mortality of 
his race, as these had been presented to him in vision, the Genius 
that had been charged with his care compassionated his sorrow, 
and called him from the sad sight. " Look no more," said his 
spirit-companion, " on man in the first stage of his existence, in 
his setting out for eternity, but cast thine eye on that thick mist 
into which the tide bears the several generations of mortals that 
fall into it." Mirza looked, and the mist had vanished. Spread 
before his entranced eye was a scene surpassing in loveliness what 
the boldest imagination had ventured. He was now content, if 
from a state so full of trial and suffering, and strangely unequal 
condition, it were possible to ascend to such glory. 

What is here a fable becomes real to every eye of faith that 



7 
turns from the disappointments and woes and universal unrest to 
which this world gives birth, and pierces the cloud that hides the 
Better Land. There, every thing is uncovered : hidden purposes 
are revealed ; painful experiences are all explained ; the old 
learn why they so long lived ; the young have disclosed why 
they so early were transplanted. In clear light shall be read the 
hidden things of birth, life, death, and all that now we know 
not. Then, as not now, shall we be impressed and made glad 
as we turn to the Father and say, " My times are in thy 
hands." As we so well know the plans of God in this world, 
let us abide in His wisdom. Let not the heart grow faint, 
nor the hands weary in His service. "All the days of my 
appointed time will I wait, till my change come." " So teach 
us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto 
wisdom." 



II, 



" A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband." — Prov., xii. 4. 

" There shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told for a 
memorial of her." — Matt., xxvi. 13. 

" The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
Into his study of imagination, 
And every lovely organ of her life 
Shall come appareled in more precious habit, 
More moving delicate, and full of life. 
Into the eye and prospect of his soul. 
Than when she lived indeed." — Shakspeare. 

It is a providence not easily interpreted that has removed 
Elizabeth Platt Adams from friends, and home, and church 
on earth. There is much connected with her life, her suffer- 
ings, her death, that we vainly attempt to understand. Had 

1 



lO 

we not the belief that Infinite Wisdom and Love have presided 
in her history as in all else, cheerless and dark would be every 
thought her name awakens. " Shall not the Judge of all the 
earth do right ? " The Lord appoints " a time to be born " 
and " a time to die." " The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken 
away ; blessed be the name of the Lord." 

Blessed memories cluster about the name of Mrs. Adams. 
Those who knew her from birth, and followed her with 
watchful and affectionate interest till the grave hid her from 
human view, are pained by no recollection. Not that perfec- 
tion was hers. No one would disclaim it more sincerely and 
vehemently than she. But with whatever of weakness, there 
was an absence of willfulness, which too often mars the charac- 
ter, and incurs indifference, if not enmity. What of faults there 
were lingered not long in the memory. The bright light shed 



II 

all about by the superior qualities of mind and heart too 
strongly drew the gaze of observers, to admit to prominence 
those natural infirmities to which all are heir. It is not, then, 
the perfection of excellence that these pages propose to ex- 
hibit, but a beautiful pattern, reflecting much of Him whom 
we worship as Infinite Perfection. 

The discoverer of the Hudson River pronounced it the 
most beautiful river in the world, and the praise he bestowed 
has been perpetuated in story and song. No one sails up the 
noble stream without an awakened enthusiasm akin to that of 
the people who first settled upon its banks. It is still what 
it always was; its beauties are none diminished, although its 
shores more and more "glow with the colors of civilization." 
It was on the banks of this river that Margaret Fuller felt 
herself "enfranchised in the society of Nature." Others, like 



12 

her, have been lost in contemplating the majesty of scenery 
furnished by these splendid creations of Divine Art. 

It was the pride of Mrs. Adams, that amid these grand 
scenes she had her birth. No heart kindled into greater en- 
thusiasm when in the presence of the river, with its bluffs and 
mountains swelling up on either side. She often remarked 
the tranquil pleasure she took in recalling these to mind, 
when separated from them. Distance nor absence ever chilled 
the affection of her heart for her native scenery. 

She was born in Rhinebeck, N. Y., February 6th, 1830. 
Her parents were William B. and Sarah Stoutenburgh Piatt. 
Religious influences surrounded her from the time she could 
receive the first impression. No child was ever more care- 
fully and tenderly reared. As the only daughter, she lacked 
no attention that fond parents could minister. But the in- 



13 

dulgence she received at home did not develop the spirit of 
selfishness, as is often the case. There was a natural soft- 
ness, grace and ease of character, which were not affected by 
the partial and lavish attention bestowed upon her. And it 
must greatly comfort the father and mother in their present 
sorrow, that their unwearied care was ever met by the most 
comely respect and tender love. Her duty as a daughter she 
faithfully discharged. As a sister, she still lives in the heart of 
one who bears in constant remembrance the mild radiance she 
cast over his childhood days, and the sweet sympathy that 
bound her to him in his riper years. 

At school and in the social life of her native village, she 
won affection as at home. From teachers and companions, 
there comes but one testimony. In the class she was duti- 
ful and prompt. Among her mates she knew not distinc- 



14 

tions, but sustained friendly intercourse with all. She 
had a kind word for those in trouble, and " wept with 
those that weep." Thus, with even and consistent life, she 
passed her childhood and youth. Although not averse to 
gayety, no one ever accused her of thoughtlessness. Although 
not yet moulded by the Spirit of Christ into His likeness, 
she was by no means irreligious. She was loyal to her con- 
victions of right and truth, and failed not in outward duties. 
It is uncertain when really began her true spiritual life. 
Her guilelessness and moral propriety some would identify 
with her religious life, and thus pronounce her always a child 
of God. But she was not satisfied with her earlier conduct 
and experiences. There was yet a distance from God. Not 
yet had she drawn so close to her Saviour as to feel the 
warmth of His presence. She longed for a nearness to Him, 



15 

even for a resting-place on His bosom, where she might lean 
and feel the beatings of His loving heart. 

This blessed state she reached in the autumn of eighteen 
hundred and fifty-two. For several months, her mind had 
been more directly given to religious meditation. While she 
could not reproach herself with want of love for earthly kind- 
red and friends, she felt convicted of not giving God the 
supreme place in her heart. His claims she now saw as 
never before. Her neglect of these, and His long-suf- 
fering and forbearance. His pleading mercy and free grace, 
moved her to profound repentance. In deep humility, she 
cast herself at her Father's feet, and through the Lord Jesus, 
sought and found full forgiveness. Her peculiar experiences 
at this time are not fully known. If she recorded them, the 
record has not been seen by other than herself To her 



i6 
pastor, she gave satisfactory evidence of a great change 
wrought within. As to the matter of a public confession, 
she had many struggles. At last she was enabled to discern 
clearly the path of duty. Conversing with her mother upon 
the subject, she said: ^^ My mind is made up."" This expression 
may be taken as a key to her conduct. She deliberately 
formed her judgment and abided by the decision. In August, 
eighteen hundred and fifty-two, she united with the Reformed 
Dutch Church, Rhinebeck, N. Y., then under the pastoral 
care of Rev. Peter Stryker, D.D., now of the Thirty-fourth 
Street Reformed Dutch Church, New York City. From 
that time till her death, she was a consistent and growing 
Christian. 

In September of this same year, she was married to Charles 
H. Adams, Esq., of Cohoes, N. Y. This marriage was 



I? 

fruitful of the utmost happiness. But now she was intro- 
duced to a new class of temptations, and which would 
thoroughly sift her Christian character. There was hardly 
anything that her position could not command. Every de- 
sire for bodily comfort or pleasure could be promptly met. 
She had access to the best society. She was beset by those 
influences that too often overcome the heart and indulge 
gross selfishness. But no one could discover that these in 
the least unfavorably affected her. She was just as unselfish, 
free from pride, as simple-hearted, as devout, as ever. Her 
life, in these respects, is a rebuke to those who, from high 
social positions, look haughtily upon the poor, and who 
employ every art to maintain association with the rich, fash- 
ionable and gay. Mrs. Adams looked with contempt on 

the formality and show that distinguish much of American 

3 



i8 

society. Her heart was formed for sincere and not formal 
friendships ; hence her abhorrence of social deceits. She freely 
mingled with the poor, and had that most desirable of all 
traits, when among them, of so conducting as never to remind 
them of their poverty. Her conversation and charities flow- 
ed from a heart so tender and simple, that the objects of 
her benevolence were never made uneasy or unhappy in re- 
ceiving gifts. Her last pastor, the Rev. Dr. Waldron, writes 
of the mourning her death occasioned among the poor of 
Cohoes, " to whom she gave not only of the abundance with 
which God had blessed her, but whose homes she so often 
visited, and whose hearts she comforted with kindly words 
of sympathy." In this respect, she may be commended as a 
beautiful example of that "pure religion and undefiled before 
God and the Father" which "is this: to visit the fatherless 



19 

and widows In their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted 
from the world." 

She loved the sanctuary and the place of prayer. When 
ill-health did not interpose, her place was filled. Not as a 
matter of custom or form did she enter the courts of the 
Lord, but for praise and worship. No small measure of the 
Psalmist's spirit was hers, and with him she could devoutly 
say : '* A day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I 
had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God than 
to dwell in the tents of wickedness." Her religion was 
of a type to make her happy. She could not reconcile gloom- 
iness and a true Christian faith. It will be remembered by all 
who knew her, how rarely there was other than pleasant ex- 
pression and tone of voice. " She was remarkable for her 
Christian cheerfulness," writes Dr. Waldron, "and trustful- 



20 

ness of character ; ever disposed to look on the bright side, 
and to encourage the troubled and desponding. We shall 
miss her pleasant countenance in the place of prayer, and re- 
gret that her praises on earth are hushed in silence." 

The religion she professed exhibited its power in every re- 
lation of life. As a wife, mother, daughter and sister, she 
felt herself indebted to this power. Although naturally 
lovely and affectionate, her piety added a charm none could 
resist ; it led her to think less of worldly estate and inter- 
ests, and to have chief solicitude about the spiritual. With 
the writer she held frequent conversations, in which her near 
friends were subjects, and he does not remember a single in- 
stance where success in this life appeared to be an object of 
concern, but with much and anxious solicitude she spoke of 
their spiritual condition. She longed for the time when all 



21 

her loved ones could, with her, sit at the table of the Lord. 
While this desire was not gratified on earth, will not the 
living so prepare themselves, that they may hereafter have a 
place with her at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb ? 

There is a sacredness about the home circle we are forbid- 
den to invade. How much she loved, and how much she 
was loved, words are too poor to tell ; we dare not trust 
the pen to attempt an expression. How dear she was to 
husband and children, it is not ours to measure, but it is 
theirs to feel, as the affectionate impulses of the heart go out 
vainly after her, now removed from the sight. She lingers 
with parents and brother as a dream of sweetest import, and 
yet so real, that a dark, lonely void exists which naught else 
but reunion can supply. She had a deep place in many 
hearts, and none knew her but to mourn when she " fell asleep." 



III. 

"Thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me." — Psalm, cxix. 75. 

"When he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold." — Job, xxiii. 10. 

" The best of men 
That ere wore earth about him was a sufferer, 
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit." — Decker. 

The instances are few where every comfort for body and 
soul could be so readily commanded as by Mrs. Adams. 
Truer, more affectionate and self-denying friends, none could 
wish. Every physical and social indulgence, every gratification 
of the taste and feelings, had at hand ample means for any 
supply. Were it possible for outward condition to furnish 
grounds for complete enjoyment of this life, this surely had 



24 

been her inheritance. But her life, especially her latter years, 
had its experience of bitterness. She was a sufferer. In 
early life, the frailness of her constitution was not so appar- 
ent. Yet there were indications of physical weakness that 
led friends to be solicitous about the future. Occasionally 
very ill, yet her nearest friends were not really alarmed until 
a few months before her decease. Her difficulties were com- 
plicated, and some doubts prevailed as to their precise nature. 
The best skill of the earthly physician was baffled, in treating 
the disorder. It numbered another, and the fairest too, 
among its myriad victims. Her final sickness was somewhat 
protracted, and at times very painful. But every suffering 
was endured patiently. She neither murmured nor rebelled 
against the Providence that afflicted her. As far as possible 
she concealed her sufferings, lest her friends might be pained. 



25 
In the closing month of the Spring, she was brought from 
New York, where she had spent many weary weeks upon her 
bed, to her father's house at Rhinebeck. It was at this time 
the writer was first persuaded of her sure and rapid de- 
cline. Visiting her, he felt it a duty to discover, if possible, 
her convictions with reference to herself Scarcely was the 
subject of her sickness alluded to, before she unhesitatingly 
and without emotion remarked that she felt this to be her 
last sickness. Her conversation turned upon the attractions 
the world had for her. She spoke of her husband and child- 
ren, how very precious they were. The affection and kind- 
ness other friends lavished upon her were noticed. But she 
felt, that her afflictions had been qualifying her for something 
better than this world could furnish. Dear as were friends, 

delightful as were the associations and privileges of life, these 

4 



26 

must all be surrendered to the will of her Father, whom she 
knew did not "afflict willingly." Her prayer was, that she 
might be submissive. For this she earnestly struggled. 
Those who watched over or who occasionally visited her dur- 
ing the last three months of her life, could not but remark 
a wonderful passiveness. Week after week she lay like a child 
in her Father's arms, exhibiting the spirit expressed by the 
words, *' Even so. Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight." 
A friend, who knew much of her inner life and struggles, 
has said, that for months, while persuaded that remedies were 
useless, she yet would willingly take any remedy proposed by 
anxious friends for her relief, in order to gratify them in 
their desire to exhaust every possible resource. She would add 
to her own sufferings, to preserve them in hope or diminish 
their sorrows. So unselfish was she, that she labored to 



27 

suppress sighs and groans, lest some loving heart might be 
wounded as they were heard. This tenderness for others 
did not at all abate; until the last she was forgetful of self 
Her afflictions had wrought a good work, in that now she 
was complete victor. Indeed, her prayer had been to have 
the cup pass if possible, yet the high attainment was made — 
Not my will J but thine ^ O God! be done. 

The Captain of our salvation was made perfect through 
sufferings. The same discipline of sorrow He adopts to 
perfect His people. He led His handmaid into a furnace, 
and she went up therefrom as gold tried and purified. 



I V 



" Her sun is gone down while it was yet day." — Jeremiah, xv. 9. 
" Into thy hands I commit my spirit." — Psalms, xxxi. 5. 

" A life well spent is like a flower 
That had bright sunshine its brief hour ; 
******* 

And went to immortality, 

A very proper thing to die." — Channing. 



It is related that, as a visitor to the Escurial stood gazing 
on Titian's celebrated painting of the Last Supper, he was 
accosted by an old hermit of St. Jerome, and addressed as 
follows: "I have sat in sight of that picture for nearly three- 
score years. During that time, my companions have dropped 



30 
off one after another ; all who were my seniors, all who were 
my cotemporaries, and many or most of those who were 
younger than myself More than one generation has passed 
away, and there the figures in the picture have remained 
unchanged. I look at these, till I sometimes think they are 
the realities, and we but the shadows." 

There is an unbroken procession of generations to the 
grave, but the places that knew them remain. The mount- 
ains and hills and water-courses, the sun, moon and stars, 
pass not away. Who is not often impressed, as was the 
hermit, with the fugitive and shadowy features of human 
life, and who is not at times disposed to indulge suspicions 
that change is more an attribute of life than of inanimate 
matter? We revisit the place of nativity after years of ab- 
sence. We gaze on an unchanged face of Nature. The 



31 

same venerable forests are there. We are sheltered by famil- 
iar trees. Through the same valleys we roam, and plant 
the feet on rocks whose mossy surface invited the gentler 
frolics of childhood. The noise of the waterfall and the 

voice of bird, vary not a note from olden time, and now 
discourse a music more entrancing than the delicate instru- 
ment of strings. Even the old habitations are there. And 
yet how vainly we look for forms and faces who went to 
and fro in our early days ! The one indeed seem the re- 
alities ; the other but the shadows. 

But such is life. " Man that is born of a woman is of 
few days and full of trouble." " He cometh forth like a 
flower, and is cut down : he fleeth also as a shadow, and 
continueth not." " We all do fade as the leaf." " Our 
days upon earth are a shadow." All this is abundantly 



32 

verified by daily experience. In the morning, at mid-day, 
the sun goes down. The young, the beautiful, the good, 
as a vapor, vanish away. 

So passed from earth, Elizabeth Platt Adams. Her 
native mountains still endure, as they ever have, while re- 
peated generations have departed. But we know that she 
is deathless, while they shall yet be consumed. Deathless 
indeed ! — and yet dead ! 

The decline of Mrs. Adams was rapid. During the summer, 
she frequently rode in her carriage ; but as autumn came on, 
her weakness increased, and she soon was confined to the 
house. She was perfectly aware of her decline, and had given 
up all hope of recovery ; but she did not communicate her be- 
lief to her family. On Sunday, August fifth, she was visited 
by the writer. He had been for some weeks absent from 



33 

Rhinebeck, on a vacation, and in the mean time had received a 
call to another jfield. As he entered the room, Mrs. Adams 
was very much aiFected, and after a few moments remarked : 
" I hoped that you would not leave here, until I had gone." 

" Do you feel that you are so near the Better Land ?" 

" I know I am almost there." 

" Are you willing and ready ?" 

"I feel that I am." 

" Have you had many struggles of mind, in view of your 
separation from all you hold dear in the world ?" 

" Oh ! yes. It seems to me sometimes that I have more to 

live for than most persons. I have the kindest of husbands ; 

my children are a great comfort to me ; all the family are very 

near; and there is nothing that I wish for that I cannot have. 

The world seems very pleasant to me, and if it were God's 

5 



34 

will, I would like to live longer. But I know I can 
live but a short time. I try to be submissive and patient ; I 
pray to be so. I desired very much to be at the Commun- 
ion to-day. I expected to unite with the Church to-day ; 

but he is so timid. If he and and were true 

Christians, how happy we would all be ! To-day I have prayed 
for them all." 

" You have no doubts and fears to trouble you now ?" 

"No! I rest on Jesus. I can do nothing; He will 
do all." 

" Then, all is peace ?" 

"Yes: Peace! Peace!" After a short pause she said: "I 
hope that it will not be so that you cannot be at my 
funeral." As she desired, so it was. 

A few weeks later, the writer saw her again. Her faith 



35 
and hope were none diminished. The interview was in 
presence of her husband and mother. She spoke freely and 
confidently, but yet in a most touching tone and with deep 
emotion, added : '' It would be pleasant for me to live." It 
seemed that as the end drew near, her family became increas- 
edly precious, and sometimes, in the weakness of the body, 
but not of faith, would she express a desire to remain with them. 
At no interview, however, did she indicate a want of submis- 
sion to the will of God. 

Her sufferings gradually increased. To her most hopeful 
friends, her case now became hopeless. The end drew near. 
The last week of September was one of great anxiety to her 
friends. She rallied again, however. On the morning of 
October fourth, appeared unmistakable evidences of a speedy 
release from her suiFerings. Her physician was almost con- 



36 

stantly with her, and his presence gave her much comfort in 
view of the approaching struggle. 

In the afternoon, she summoned the household, servants 
and all, to her bedside. To the servants, she spake kindly 
words, and bade them all good-by. The heart-stricken 
parents received the last loving words and kiss from the lov- 
ing daughter. Her two little ones she embraced, and gave 
to them affectionate counsels. In true faith, she committed 
them to the care of Him who hears the faithful mother's 
prayer, and regards her faith long after she is dead. Sweet 
words were they she spake to him who was to her more 
than all the world besides. His head was bowed in heavy 
grief; his heart was wrung with agony, as he felt that "part 
of very self" was being torn from him. But those last 
whispers of love, the affectionate imprint, the prayer, the 



37 
meek surrender to the Father, the victory of grace, lifted 
the head and soothed the heart. Could he but rejoice in 
Him, who giveth such a victory ? The Lord stood by, 
mingling gladness with that cup of sorrow. He gave to 
the smitten husband " beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for 
mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." 

The stream of life had narrowed and shallowed until all 
ran In a little rill. Energy had wasted, until all activity 
blended solely in desire — simple breathing after submission and 
conformity to the Lord's will. Too much worn out now for 
thinking, the mind thus sublimely withdraws into another 
realm — "I am done with earth and earthly things. Come, 
Lord Jesus, come quickly !" 

She died at a time when probably she would have chosen, 
had her wish been consulted; and no day was more con- 



38 

genial to her tastes than that in which she was carried to the 
sanctuary of the dead. She loved October and October 

scenes. She left the earth clothed as she most admired: 
the chill had strewn the ground with drooping plants ; the 
frosts impearled every blade and branch, and the morning sun 
spread the verdant earth as with a covering of diamonds. 
The last fragrance of the flower had disappeared on the wings 
of the autumn winds. The sun never set where his beams 
lit up with more splendor earth and sky, than on that last 
day she spent below. Such evening glory we not often be- 
hold. There seemed to be a sympathy of Nature with the 
setting sun of that beautiful life. There followed an hour 
of darkness ere release came ; but it only was a symbol of 
the brief darkness of death — an hour when the spirit is strug- 
gling to disenthrall itself, and enter upon its rest. 



35 
and hope were none diminished. The interview was in 
presence of her husband and mother. She spoke freely and 
confidently, but yet in a most touching tone and with deep 
emotion, added: "It would be pleasant for me to live." It 
seemed that as the end drew near, her family became increas- 
edly precious, and sometimes, in the weakness of the body, 
but not of faith, would she express a desire to remain with them. 
At no interview, however, did she indicate a want of submis- 
sion to the will of God. 

Her sufferings gradually increased. To her most hopeful 
friends, her case now became hopeless. The end drew near. 
The last week of September was one of great anxiety to her 
friends. She rallied again, however. On the morning of 
October fourth, appeared unmistakable evidences of a speedy 
release from her sufferings. Her physician was almost con- 



36 

stantly with her, and his presence gave her much comfort in 
view of the approaching struggle. 

In the afternoon, she summoned all the members of the 
household to her bedside, and bade them all good-by. The 
heart-stricken parents received the last loving words and 
kiss from the loving daughter. Her two little ones she 
embraced, and gave to them affectionate counsels. In true 
faith, she committed them to the care of Him who hears 
the faithful mother's prayer, and regards her faith long 
after she is dead. Sweet words were they she spake to 
him who was to her more than all the world besides. 
His head was bowed in heavy grief; his heart was wrung 
with agony, as he felt that "part of very self" was being 
torn from him. But those last whispers of love, the 
affectionate imprint, the prayer, the meek surrender to the 



37 
Father, the victory of grace, lifted the head and soothed 
the heart. Could he but rejoice in Him who giveth 
such a victory ? The Lord stood by, mingling gladness 
with that cup of sorrow. He gave to the smitten hus- 
band "beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the 
garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." 

The stream of life had narrowed and shallowed until all 
ran in a little rill. Energy had wasted, until all activity 
blended solely in desire — simple breathing after submission and 
conformity to the Lord's will. Too much worn out now for 
thinking, the mind thus sublimely withdraws into another 
realm — "I am done with earth and earthly things. Come, 
Lord Jesus, come quickly !" 

She died at a time when probably she would have chosen, 
had her wish been consulted ; and no day was more con- 



38 

genial to her tastes than that in which she was carried to the 
sanctuary of the dead. She loved October and October 
scenes. She left the earth clothed as she most admired : 
the chill had strewn the ground with drooping plants ; the 
frosts impearled every blade and branch, and the morning sun 
spread the verdant earth as with a covering of diamonds. 
The last fragrance of the flower had disappeared on the wings 
of the autumn winds. The sun never set where his beams 
lit up with more splendor earth and sky, than on that last 
day she spent below. Such evening glory we not often be- 
hold. There seemed to be a sympathy of Nature with the 
setting sun of that beautiful life. There followed an hour 
of darkness ere release came ; but it only was a symbol of 
the brief darkness of death — an hour when the spirit is strug- 
gling to disenthrall itself, and enter upon its rest. 



39 
The day of burial came. The hills about, "from base to 
crest," were veiled in that mellow haze which in autumn often 
rests on the region of the Catskills. The air was soft 

and balmy, stirred only by the gentlest breezes. How much 
she who was to be borne hence loved such a day, they know, 
who remember with what glowing but unconscious enthusiasm 
she went forth, in ride or walk, to enjoy it. But now the 
eye was dimmed, and saw not the calm glory it so often 
traced. Other eyes saw and kindred spirits spoke, in her 
name, of the tranquil beauties of the sky and the richly robed 
hills and fields. It was a sad day for friends ; yet they 
could not but be grateful that her bondage of suffering was 
broken. They gathered in solemn assembly. From far and 
near they came ; from the high circles in which she had moved 
in modest dignity, and from among the poor who had re- 



40 

ceived her generous benefactions, came many to shed tears of 
profound sorrow at her grave. It was no affectation of grief 
that distinguished the company of mourners the occasion 
called together. It was a time of deep solemnity. Every 
heart was full, and spoke through an eloquent silence. The 
scene was one of simplicity. The absence of art and form 
made it sublime. The coffin, the flowers, only less fragrant 
than her deeds of charity, the order of the obsequies, were in 
accord with simple, unaffected grief A few familiar sentences, 
the lessons of Scripture, and a prayer introduced the services. 
Afterward, an address was made by him whom herself weeks 
before had desired to officiate. In obedience to request, it is 
here given : 



41 



" Sad, sad indeed the event that calls us together at this 
time. To this hour have anxious hearts long looked. Amid 
the exciting alternations of hope and fear, have tender hands 
ministered to the pressing needs of her whose death we so 
deeply deplore. If the consuming desire of husband and chil- 
dren and parents and brother had been consulted or availed, 
this chilled form had now been instinct and warm with life ; 
the flush of health would light up these sunken cheeks, and 
from these sealed lips would flow, as in other days, sweet words 
to delight and bless this bereaved circle of love. But the De- 
stroying Angel heeded not the prayers agonized hearts put up 
for her deliverance. Vainly had the best medical skill and 

care of friends been bestowed to prevent this sore bereavement. 

6 



42 
The fondest hopes have perished ; the tenderest ties that 
bind the heart on earth, have been sundered. Hard is it to 
confess the dreadful reality ! But, alas ! it is too true ! 

" Gladly would I have been spared this hour. Personally, 
believe me, I am distressed at this providence. It is a 
painful fact to me that my last service to this people should 
be as it is. And yet, since such a service has been allotted, 
there is much in the attending circumstances to comfort the 
heart. 

" With gratitude may we think of the sister gone, as a dis- 
ciple, a true disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ. More than thir- 
teen years since, she surrendered her heart to God. After 
many and severe struggles, she determined to make a public 
profession of her faith. This she did in August, eighteen 
hundred and fifty-three. Since that time, her life has been so 



43 
consistent, that I believe no one ever questioned her attainments 
in holiness. Her piety was without mixture of that ostenta- 
tion that too often mars the Christian profession. God had 
surrounded her with all that could command social position 
and almost every bodily gratification. Yet her wealth was 
never appropriated to nourish vanity; no position in life could 
persuade her to assume superiority over the lowliest fellow-dis- 
ciple; no flattery could succeed in raising selfishness to 
supremacy; nothing in look, word, or act betrayed a thought 
oflTensive to any with whom she came in contact. It is rare, 
in this imperfect world, to see one so beautiful, so gifted with 
traits commanding universal admiration and respect, so bounti- 
fully supplied with worldly goods, who to the same degree is 
free from pride, selfishness and show. This I say, not in the 
spirit of eulogy, but to commend an example you all confess 



44 

to be of great beauty and power. To natural loveliness 
were added "gifts and graces" the Divine Spirit only con- 
fers. The heart had been melted into submission and freely 
given to the Father. Her Christian life was so even and dis- 
tinguished for so much of simplicity, as to furnish but few of 
those striking particulars found in many current biographies. 
All who knew ' her marked her guilelessness, trustful spirit, 
hopefulness, love of the unseen Saviour, and sincere obedience. 
Be ye all followers of her as she followed Christ. 

"To the end, her faith endured. Months ago, she was 
satisfied that the end was not far off. Lest she might pain 
her friends, she abstained from allusion to the fact. Near the 
close of life, this silence was broken. 

" It was on Friday last, when, assured of the nearness of her 
departure, she, in childlike faith, bade adieu to this world. 



45 
To the sorrowing household, she gave parting counsels and 
greetings and kisses. After an affecting interview with her 
husband, she said to him, * I am done with earth and earthly 
things ; ' then folding the hands, sweetly breathed the prayer : 
' Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly !' Not long after, the 
Saviour came and took her to His arms. 

" I shall not, in this presence, enter her home, to draw from 
thence facts to exhibit her virtues or impress her personal 
worth upon you. The life connected with her family relations, 
is the treasure of this smitten husband, these motherless chil- 
dren, these crushed parents, and of the absent one, who as 
yet knows not his bitter sorrow. It must mitigate much the 
keenness of grief, on this occasion, to feel that such a wife, 
mother, daughter, sister, friend, is taken. Pleasant and com- 
forting in future days will be the recollection of her excellent 



46 

name. How fragrant her memory ! What a legacy to these 
children, her virtues, as in after life they will hear them 
told ! Bright will be their path, if they walk in her steps. 

"But vain are such consolations, when alone our dependence. 
I would fail in my trust did I not point you to the prom- 
ises and hopes and Grace revealed in the Gospel. God hath 
done it ; He doeth all things well. This providence is wise, 
although now not so discerned; it is sent in love, although 
heavy the stroke. The Lord hath said : * What I do ye know 
not now, but shall know hereafter.' Trust in the Father's Love 
and Wisdom, and take to yourselves the assurances of the 
Gospel. She has but gone before, and there will await your 
coming. Not far off is the hour of re-union. Through the 
same Saviour, you may ascend to her. 

''Oh! lift the eye above, and let faith unveil the invisible 



47 
world. Her crown is cast at the Saviour's feet. Her voice 
is chanting anthems with the Heavenly Choir. No pains rack 
the body there ; no tear fills the eye ; no sorrow touches the 
heart. From that pavilion of glory, she sends back to you 
the most affectionate pleading, to be prepared to have a fel- 
lowship with her in that happy land ; to make sure of your 
inheritance among the saints of God; to press toward the mark 
for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. 

" My brother, your sorrow is the great sorrow of life. 
Would that I had the power to fill your heart with the com- 
fort you need. But neither myself nor this tearful and sym- 
pathizing assembly can do it. But there is One who can 
do all you wish and need — the same Father who has taken 
your dear wife. By His Grace, the union begun, and con- 
tinued thirteen years on earth, may be perfected among the 



48 

stars. There, no rude hand can sever the tie. Here, all is 
transient ; there, enduring evermore. Hope then, that your 
hearts and voices shall yet blend in the delightful interchanges 
and praises of the Heavenly Home. Not long hence will 
you and these dear children, and these broken-hearted parents, 
and the loved one now out upon the great sea, and ourselves 
who mingle tears with yours, be selected at the Marriage 
Supper of the Lamb. 

"To you all, gathered here to-day, I would speak as for 
the last time, to warn you to be prepared for such an 
event as this. There are voices streaming from this coffin 
more impressive than the voice of the living preacher, and 
they solemnly remind you of the brevity of life, the certainty 
and nearness of death, and the important duty of preparing 
to exchange worlds. Oh ! listen not vainly to these voices ! 



49 
Heed, oh ! heed them ! Awake to the importance of a Chris- 
tian life. Have supreme concern for the soul. See that it 
has the vestment of righteousness. Thus secure by repentance 
of sin, faith in the Lord Jesus, obedience to the Gospel, and 
thus, by timely care and preparation, the Lord of the harvest 
will find you ready when He comes." 

After another prayer, those present took final leave of that 

beautiful face, and then the procession moved slowly to the 

churchyard. The body had found its sepulchre. In hope, 

we laid it away. On the morning of the resurrection, this 

grave will give back to us the body changed into the Christly 

image. For that glad day the heart longeth ! 

7 



V 



Thou fecdcst them with the bread of tears." — Psalm, Ixxx. 5. 

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." — -Psai.m, xxx. 

" Then mourn we not beloved dead, 
Ev'n while we come to weep and pray ; 
The happy spirit hath but fled 
To brighter realms of heavenly day : 
Immortal hope dispels the gloom — 
An angel sits beside the tomb." — Miss S. P. Adams. 



She whom our souls loved, is not, for God took her. 
The mind is very slow to admit the fact. But each passing 
hour impresses the sad reality of absence. The pain of 

separation is too constant and keen, to allow the heart for a 
moment to suppose it unreal. Not as dead however, do we 



52 

mourn her, for she only sleepeth. Sweet is the thought and 
as balm to the bleeding heart, that she rests in the arms of 
Him who " giveth His beloved sleep." Nevertheless, bitter 
grief prevails, because she is not here. Who can stay the 
tears when dear ones are laid in the grave ? It is no sin to 
weep over them. Jesus mingled his tears with those of the 
family of Bethany, in their bereavement. To weep is not to 
murmur. Tears are the outlet of sorrow. The weeping 
eye oft saves the breaking heart. Although tear-blinded and 
grief-worn, there may be only the more clearly discerned the 
brightness in the firmament of God's love. With riper assurance 
and greater steadfastness, may the heart turn to that better 
country, where all tears are wiped from the eyes. 

The heart's great struggle is not then, to cease from weeping, 
but rather, while weeping, to kiss the rod that smites, and to 



53 

endure the furnace with patient spirit ; persuaded that One, with 
" form like the Son of God," is also there in loving presence. 
It does not relieve the suffering spirit to attempt a con- 
cealment of any of its sorrows. The heart asks to know 
fully, its own bitterness. Deeply as the iron hath entered, so 
deeply go. As must be known the extent of the fearful 
malady, in order to successfully arrest its progress, so measure 
to the uttermost the whole height and depth of the sorrow, 
that to root and branch may be applied the balm of consola- 
tion. A surface view of the hurts of the spirit, only admits 
of partial sight of the love and power of Him who healeth. 
They love most who feel they have most forgiven. So do 
they the most rejoice in tribulation, who, "out of the depths," 
look up and cry unto the Father. One who fought a good 
fight and who did run well the race of life, has left this re- 



54 
cord of his experience : '^ I take pleasure in infirmities, in re- 
proaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's 
sake ; for when I am weak, then am I strong." Another 
has cheered the sufferer in sweet words of song, as if the 
loving Saviour Himself did speak. 

Thou plainest in thy deepest woe 

Shalt feel me at thy side; 
And, for my praise, to all shalt show 

Thou art well satisfied. 

No greater sorrow befalls us than that these pages chronicle. 
Words utterly fail to tell it. In the language of the tear and 
sigh it is conveyed, and in the deepest places of the soul 
is it registered, far withdrav/n from human gaze. The grief 
hardest to bear is in these secret places, whither no sympathy 
can reach. 

Such is thy grief, brother, whose heart has been rent, and 
from whom part of very self has been taken. Buried from 



S5 
thy sightj but not lost ! No less thine because invisible ! 
Hers now, is a spirit moving in the higher sphere of pure 
and holy experience. Even while with thee in this realm so 
gross, was she lifted by the genuine impulse of holy affection 
to this high place. The disposition, the thought, the emotion, 
were reflected by the outward walk. When removed, she 
passed from view like a setting sun, that leaves 

•' A track of glory in the skies." 

Mourn not the blessed translation. Not long hence, the inter- 
vening veil will be rent from top to bottom ; the most 
excellent glory will appear; and, robed in the attire of Heaven, 
thine own again shall be with thee. Out of this mystery of 
grief will yet come a more perfect union of hearts, a con- 
summated bliss. Thy children — whose wants unmet in later 
years, whose heart-yearnings after a mother's love, caress, tender 



56 

care, none can measure — with thee, may go to that ransomed 
spirit. The broken household may be one again. Through 
Him who heals the ruptured brotherhood of man, and effects 
a " restitution of all things," who makes Mercy and Grace 
superabound where sin has ravaged, and who extinguishes the 
work and power of Death, shall all who trust in and partake 
of the Divine Name be exalted, re-united, perfected in holiness, 
and introduced to a life that shall be an endless canticle of 
praise. 

And you who gave her birth — your hearts are stored with 
precious memories. He who gave hast taken, and you can 
bless the Name of the Lord. Promises, rich and comforting, 
are proffered. The realm that lies forward invites you to an 
infinite compensation for every sorrow here. The sacrifice is 
only for the present. Hereafter, she whom thou dost surren- 



57 
der will be eternally radiant with the light of Heaven. Rest 
then in hope. Not long wilt thou tarry here. The pilgrimage 
is nearly closed. The door of Heaven even now opens — 
enter in. 

Thee, now only left to stay and cheer declining days, this 
sundered tie leaves in speechless grief Lone and drear, a 
brother's heart ! But that sister's pure spirit is still with thee. 
Death not always occasions separation. The spirit still em- 
bodied sees not the disembodied ; but the invisible is no less 
real than the visible. Hearts bound together by loving sym- 
pathy, never lose the sense of a common presence. Where 
oneness is, a sense of absence cannot prevail. When time and 
space interpose, hearts are not drawn into isolation. The 
union of loving, sympathetic souls is perpetual. Death takes 
from the sight, not from the heart. 



58 

Of those natures that impress by their nobleness, Goethe has 
affirmed as a prerogative, "that their departure to higher re- 
gions exercises a no less blessed influence than did their abode 
on earth ; that they lighten us from above like stars, by which 
to steer our course, often interrupted by storms." A new 
star has been set for thee, whose serene ray now falls as a 
presiding light upon thy path. The remembrance of her in 
the new sphere hath charms that were not when clothed in 
clay. The voice as it lingers in the chambers of memory is 
sweeter than song. The whole life so pure and good in 
thine eyes, abides now with thee as a mellowing leaven. Whilst 
thou dost mourn that a lamp has gone out on earth, yet flows 
there not over the soul a tide of joy because a brighter light 
is set above ? 



V I . 

"The memory of the just is blessed." — Proverbs, x. 7. 
"Their works do follow them." — Rev., xiv. 13. 

" Such be my rest ! I ask no shew 

To gild the dark vale's gloom j 
Nor golden pageantry to strew 

A pathway to the tomb : 
But one fond tear from those I love, 

As dust to dust is given : 
And one bright flower to bloom above, 

And note my hope of Heaven." — Latrobe. 

The tear has fallen over thy precious dust, and as oft as 
spring-time comes, and the soft sunshine and the warm dews 
fall upon the earth, shall the flower above thy grave bloom 
as thine own fond emblem, and scatter its fragrance as thine 



6o 

own dear name sheds its perfume in the circle of thine earthly 
love. 

Friends have come from far to bring tributes of affection. 
They delight to linger around thy tomb. With tender finger, 
they weave the pure white garland and hang it on thy head- 
stone. They trace too with pen, moved by the inspiration of love, 
memorial-words that will never let thee die out of the memory. 

He who now writes, but poorly tells the tale of thy life, 
yet with heart in true response to the life he here records. 
The character, so open to the light, he can no more trace in 
words than can the beauty and glory of the sunbeam be writ- 
ten. But when the poverty of language forbids a just record, 
God opens upon the world a stream of influence, upon whose 
every wave and ripple glistens the name. And thus thou 
shalt live when these pages molder and are lost. 



6i 
To what has now been said of the excellency of this dear 
friend, will be added contributions from those who knew her 
long and well. They are admitted precisely as given by the 
respective authors. 



€\)t |)itcl)er of tmre. 

BY PETER STRYKER, D.D. 

There is a beautiful German legend to this effect : 
A mother loved her child so intensely that she could not 
bear to be separated from her. At length the beloved one 
grew sick. For three days and nights the fond mother wept 
as well as watched and prayed, and then her darling died. A 
nameless sorrow seized her heart. She was alone on God's 
earth. Her weeping continued day and night. At length, 
full of sadness and weary with her tears, as she sat where the 
dear one died, the door gently opened, and lo! her child stood 



64 

before her. She was a happy angel, beautiful as one trans- 
figured, and smiled sweetly in her innocence. In her hand 
she bore a pitcher, full to the brim. 

" Mother," said the child, " weep no more. For see, this 
pitcher holds the tears which thou hast shed, and which the 
angel of grief has gathered therein. And if thou dost shed 
but another tear, then must the pitcher overflow, and I shall 
no longer have peace in my grave and joy in heaven. There- 
fore, O mother ! weep no more, for thy child is well above, 
is happy, and has angels for her mates." 

" And," concludes the story, " so strong and mighty is a 
mother's love, that she stilled her soul's deep pain, and wept 
no other tear." 

I am reminded of this old legend on hearing of the late 
death of a well-remembered and beloved former parishioner. 



65 

Looking into the past with mental vision, I distinctly see a 
fair young girl, just budding into womanhood. Well may 
father, mother and brother love her devotedly, and friends 
hail her approach with admiration. There is something in her 
appearance which attracts the notice and engages the interest 
even of strangers. But what is it that gives a beautiful 
thoughtfulness to that cheerful face ? And what is it that tem- 
pers that youthful sprightliness, and mingles sobriety with joy? 
It is piety, heaven-born piety. That maiden, like Mary, loves 
to sit at Jesus' feet, and with her lustrous eye look up into 
His face, with her attentive ear listen to His voice, with her 
soul full of contrition and love, receive His benediction In 
process of time, she gives her name with her heart to the 
Saviour, and, united with His disciples, begins a holy and con- 
sistent life. She is no uncertain Christian, but an " epistle 



66 

known and read of all men," which gives its testimony in 
favor of truth and righteousness. 

Another union soon occurs. We see our friend in queenly 
beauty at her lovely home. She is arrayed in bridal attire, 
and standing among a throng of loving and beloved ones at 
Hymen's altar; she receives the ring in pledge of love that 
promises to be bright, pure, and unending, and, in return, she 
gives her heart and hand to one who proves himself worthy 
of her womanly confidence and affection. 

Years pass away, and Elizabeth Piatt, the wife of Charles 
H. Adams, beloved and lamented by all who knew her, sleeps 
in Jesus. Little Sara lies by her side, and Mary and Willie, 
the oldest and youngest born, remain to mingle their tears 
with their father's at their mother's grave. 

"Jesus wept," and so may you, dear friends; and, accord- 



67 

ing to the prayer of David, God will put your tears in His 
bottle. But you must not weep immoderately. Let not 
the pitcher, already full, overflow with rebellious tears. She 
whose premature death you deplore is, without doubt, with the I 
angels in heaven. Her weary journey is ended. Her life 
here of toil and care, of sickness and mortality^ is completed, 
and she is now forever at rest and in bliss. She will not 
be saddened by your grief — she is beyond such influences — or 
come to chide your excessive sorrow. But God will be dis- 
pleased if you murmur at his Providence, and your hearts 
will be injured by the overflow of the pitcher of tears. 

Peace, troubled souls ! Trust in the Saviour she loved 
so well — to whom she gave her youthful heart ; who was her 
chief joy in health, her support in sickness, her hope in death, 
and is now her best beloved Friend and Companion in heaven. 



68 

He will comfort and cheer your stricken hearts. And if 
the cherished object of your affection may not come back to 
you in angel form, you will at last go to meet her where 
all tears will be wiped away. O how transporting the 
thought! To enter the heavenly mansions; to see Jesus upon 
His throne; to wear the crown and diadem of the redeemed; 
to hear the anthem of angels; to join the choir that sings in 
sweetest strains redemption's song; to behold eternal sunshine; 
to eat and drink abundantly; to glide along on a calm sea 
that never has a ripple on its waves ; to sing with millions, 
and not one note of discord ; and all the while the voice 
becoming attuned to higher and sweeter notes, the ear to 
drink in more delicious melodies, the mind expanding to 
comprehend richer truths, and the heart developing to the 
experience and expression of purer and fuller love — O this is 



heaven and heaven's bliss ! And there ye, who bend in 
sorrow at the tomb of this beloved one, if ye trust in Jesus, 
ye shall meet her and each other, to renew the sweet inter- 
course began on earth, but which in heaven will never end. 
And that this may be the experience of you all, is the 
sincere and fervent prayer of one who cherishes in sweet re- 
collection the period, now more than a decade in the past, 
when some of you, with her whose loss you mourn, were 
wont to call him by the endearing name of pastor. 



By a former Pastor, Peter Stryker, D.D., who received her to Church Membership, 

OFFICIATED at HER MaRRIAGE, AND REMEMBERS WITH JOY HER LOVELY PIETY. 



Thy sun has set; but still the golden hue 
Of twilight sky delights our thoughtful gaze ; 

For though thou art forever borne from view, 
Thy mem'ry lives to light the evening haze : 

A beam of light comes streaming from thy tomb, 

And sheds a mellow radiance 'mid the gloom. 

11. 

Thy sun has set; but not a single cloud 
Hangs in the Western sky; — all is serene. 



72 

No doubts and fears thy destiny enshroud, 

To cast their shadows o'er the tranquil scene. 
Thy toil is o'er, thy weary race is run, 
Life's battles fought, the final victory won. 

III. 

Thy sun is set ; but one bright, twinkling star 
Grows more effulgent in the evening sky ; 

Bright orb of hope, it sweetly shines from far 
And sends its rays of joy and comfort nigh. 

That star o'er Judah's plains its lustre shed, 

And still it shines o'er all the pious dead. 

IV. 

Thy sun has set, but once again will rise 
When the long night of ages shall be past ; 



73 
Nay, even now, through other, brighter skies. 

The gentle rays of holy love are cast. 
And thou, departed one ! a Christian here. 
Art now, we know, an orb in yonder sphere. 

V. 

Then shall we mourn thy sun has early set ? 

No, though we walk 'mid gloomy shades of night. 
We'll trust in Jesus, and will ne'er forget 

The day will dawn, the day surpassing bright. 
Then husband, children, parents, brother, friend, 
A blest eternity with thee we'll spend. 

lO 



Away, away to the mansions of light — 
Our well-beloved hath taken her flight ! 
Away from sorrow, away from pain. 
No dark valley to trouble again ! 
Ransomed from death by her Saviour in love, 
Now basking in joy, she liveth above. 

F.yes of rare beauty, lips of true love, 
Smile like a sunbeam from gardens above ; 
Voice like an angel's, silvery sweet, 
Thrilling like music our souls to entreat — 
Purer and brighter and lovelier far. 
She now shines in heaven, a glorious star. 



IS 
Free from temptation, free from all sin, 
With no more victories o'er each to win ; 
In robes pure and white our darling appears, 
While sweet songs of welcome are greeting her ears. 
A new name in heaven is known from this day, 
A new crown given that ne'er shall decay. 

Though far from our sight her spirit hath flown. 
Where farewells and tears shall never be known ; 
Her sweet heart's love will think of us there. 
Listening with joy for each word of prayer; 
Then, wafting it on to her Saviour's white throne. 
He'll plead for her friends, her kindred and home. 

Thou beautiful vision ! passing away 

Like foretaste of heaven athwart our dark way ! 



76 

Though God gave, He but lent thee; He did recall, 

And while our hearts grieve thee, so dear to us all, 

We fain would remember that God reigns above. 

And though He afflicts us, 'tis always in love. 

E. H. 

Saratoga Springs, Oct. 5th, 1866. 



Dear, sainted friend ! imprinted on my heart, 

Thy spiritual features, sweet and fair. 

In colors fadeless, thence will ne'er depart 

While memory lasts, and life is active here. 

Swiftly have sped the few revolving years 

Since thou, a timid stranger, and a bride 

In youthful beauty, between hopes and fears. 

First came, to find among us friends untried. 

Soon, all loved who knew thee— best knew, loved most 

Thy prospects all were bright — -none saw the cloud 

Of sad bereavements, like a full-clad host. 

That hovered o'er, thy happiness to shroud : 



78 

But all too soon to sable weeds of woe, 

Changing the bridal robes, it swooping fell. 

When one, thou hadst but just begun to know 

And love as sister, in new ties, full well, 

A bride of one short year, was called away. 

Again, and yet again, with cruel hand, 

Did death, the dark-browed monarch, wield his sway. 

Till few were left of all the loving band 

Who welcomed thee as daughter, sister dear. 

What wonder that thy pensive features took 

A sadder cast, that in thine eye a tear 

Oft mingled with each tender, loving look. 

But now^ thy tears are changed to smiles of joy ; 

Thou canst not weep with those now left in woe. 

Who, while they mourn, rejoice that no alloy 



79 
Thy happiness in Heaven e'er can know. 
Sweet daughter, sister, mother, wife, and friend. 
Again we hope to meet thee when is run 
Our earthly race — when time with us shall end, 
And our eternal, blissful life's begun. 

E. M. Becker, 
CoHOEs, Dec. 28th, 1866. 



The extracts that follow are frorn a fugitive piece of one 
of the sweetest bards ot this countrv. They are incorporated 
here, because the lines so iitly express fact and sentiment 
connected with the sickness and death of Mrs. Adams. Se- 
lected by him who has a bitter experience of all narrated, 
they will be read with lively interest and deep emotion : 



8o 

Yes, dear one, I am dying. Hope at times 
Has whispered to me in her syren tones, 
But now, alas ! I feel the tide of life 
Fast ebbing from my heart. I know that soon 
The green and flowery curtain of the grave 
Will close as softly round my fading form 
As the calm shadows of the evening hour 
Close o'er the fading stream. 

Oh ! there are times 
When my heart's tears gush wildly at the thought 
I must resign my breath. To me the earth 
Is very beautiful. I love its flowers. 
Its birds, its dews, its rainbows, its glad streams. 
Its vales, its mountains, its green, wooing woods, 
Its moonlight clouds, its sunsets, and its soft 



8i 

And dewy twilights; and I needs must mourn 

To think that I shall pass away, 

And see them nevermore. 

But thou, the loved 

And fondly cherished idol of my life, 

Thou dear twin-spirit of my deathless soul, 

'Twill be the keenest anguish of my heart 

To part from thee. True, we have never loved 

With the wild passion that fills heart and brain 

With flame and madness, yet my love for thee 

Is my life's life. A deeper, holier love 

Has never sighed and wept beneath the stars. 

Or glowed within the breasts of saints in heaven. 

It does not seem a passion of my heart ; 

It is a portion of my soul. I feel 
II 



82 

That I am but a softened shade of thee. 

And that my spirit, parted from thine own, 

Might fade and perish from the universe 

Like a star-shadow when the star itself 

Is hidden by the storm-cloud. Ay, I fear 

That heaven itself, though filled with love and God, 

Will be to me all desolate, if thou. 

Dear spirit, art not there. I've often prayed 

That I might die before thee, for I felt 

I could not dwell without thee on the earth, 

And now my heart is breaking at the thought 

Of dying while thou livest, for I feel. 

My life's dear idol, that I cannot dwell 

Without thee in the sky. Yet well I know 

That love like ours, so holy, pure and high, 



83 






So far above the passions of the 


earth. 




Can perish not with mortal life. 


In heaven 




'Twill brighten to a lovely star, 


and glow 




In the far ages of eternity. 






More beautiful and radiant than 


when first 




'Twas kindled into glory. Oh 


I love, 




I dearly love thee — these will be 


my last. 




My dying words upon the earth. 


and they 




Will be my first when we shall 


meet in heaven ; 


And when ten thousand myriads 


of years 




Shall fade into the past eternity, 






My soul will breathe the same dear words to 


thine. 


I love thee, oh ! I love thee ! 








Weak and 


low 


My pulse of life is fluttering at 


my heart. 





84 

And soon 'twill cease forever. These faint words 
Are the last echoes of the spirit's chords, 
Stirred by the breath of memory. 

H: ^ H: Hi H: ^ 4: 

And, dear one, now 
I feel that my poor heart must bid farewell 
To thine. Oh ! no, no, dearest ! not farewell. 
For oft I will be with thee on the earth, 
Although my home be heaven. At eventide, 
When thou art wandering by the silent stream. 
To muse upon the sweet and mournful past, 
I will walk with thee, hand in hand, and share 
Thy gentle thoughts and fancies ; in thy grief. 
When all seems dark and desolate around 
Thy bleak and lonely pathway, I will glide 



85 
Like a bright shadow o'er thy soul, and charm 
Away thy sorrow; in the quiet hush 
Of the deep night, when thy dear head is laid 
Upon thy pillow, and thy spirit craves 
Communion with my spirit, I will come 
To nerve thy heart with strength, and gently lay 
My lips upon thy forehead, with a touch 
Like the soft kisses of the southern breeze 
Stealing o'er bowers of roses ; when the wild. 
Dark storms of life beat fiercely on thy head, 
Thou wilt behold my semblance on the cloud, 
A rainbow to thy spirit; I will bend 
At times above the fount within thy soul. 
And thou wilt see my image in its depths. 
Gazing into thy dark eyes with a smile 



86 

As I gazed in life. And I will come 
To thee in dreams, my spirit-mate, and we, 
With clasping hands and intertwining wings. 
Will nightly wander o'er the starry deep. 
And by the blessed streams of Paradise, 
Loving in heaven as we have loved on earth. 



LBJL '09 



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